Random thoughts
by s2lou
Summary: Puppet: For the ten first years of his life, Mouri Kogoro was a happy man.
1. Thought one: Mirror

**Author's note: This is pure randomness. The first idea that comes to me, I write it down, and it'll have to work out in the end as some kind of complicated pattern, I suppose (shrug). Some of these will be angst – such as this one – others will be more fun (maybe…), but anyway they'll all be short. Nothing more than 200 words… well, enjoy… if you feel like it…**

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And then it crashed. His mask. His disguise. His Poker Face. The only thing that was meant to protect him through those loads of heists when he gambled his life as carelessly as though he had nine of them. It crumbled. Shattered. Crashed. To the ground, where there were only broken remnants of what had once been a mirror. His cocky and amused smile had disappeared; the ironical expression stamped on his features had faded in the moment it had taken her for saying those few words. And then it was gone.

He watched her as she left, wiping away tears of rage and frustration as she ran, ran away from the man she loved and hated so much. He knew he could have been going after her, he knew that he would've caught up with her, he knew she would've listened to him if he wanted her to. But he didn't. In the background were echoing the sirens and roars of the police cars scouring the town in search for him – how little did they know that if they could find him right now he'd have opposed no resistance, as he dropped to his knees and cried. What could his freedom mean to him when he had maybe lost forever the only one person who could ever see through his masks, when he'd lost as a certainty his last assurance of disguise, his last protection against his fears…

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**Okay, something I forgot to tell you: everyone of these short fics will turn around one word each time. Not a theme, just the word that started the idea up. It was 'mirror' for this one, and I got a couple of ideas more. But if you think about any word you like, do tell me. Randomness inspires me… sort of…**


	2. Thought one: Puppet

**Author's note: I Do Not Own Anything. Not even Randomness.**

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For the ten first years of his marriage, Mouri Kogoro was a happy man. He was wed to a beautiful, though hot-tempered wife, whose fame as an out-of-common magistrate kept growing every day. His policeman job was good, even if he wasn't paid much and he wasn't really helpful to his colleagues. His friends were nice, honest, agreeable. More than all, he'd had a little, adorable daughter, whose happiness was his only interest. Back then, the only thing that deserved the name of problem was Ran's best friend, Kudo Shinichi. Kogoro did NOT appreciate those talks about them being a married couple, when they were nothing more than ten.

But then, one day, he shot at Eri.

And that was the end of his happy life.

Eri asked for divorce. Maybe she hadn't understood that he'd shot at her so as to save her from the criminal who'd taken her as an hostage. Nevertheless, he accepted divorce, but kept in charge of Ran. He quit his job in the police, and settled as a detective. Slowly, as years passed by, he lost his friends – and he could understand why. He wasn't such a fool. A disgraced man, who spent his days hanging around about horse races and drinking beer, wasn't someone you'd like to keep as an acquaintance. His last companions were those who played mah-jong with him, and that was only because he was a bad player, and they could sort a lot of money out of him.

Ran was growing up. She was entering high school now. So was Shinichi, and the rumours about that 'married couple' thing didn't seem to stop. But now, he had another reason for disliking it. Simply because his own married life had been a mess of things, he didn't want Ran to know the same disaster. And that Kudo boy, who was always getting involved in detective affairs and criminal mysteries, was just too likely to make her cry one day.

Now, Mouri Kogoro's happy life was reduced to the same internal routine. He barely left his office, if not to take lunch at Café Poirot, just below it. His detective work wasn't leading anywhere else but searching for cats and following adulteries, but it was enough to keep Ran and himself into subsistence.

Everyday was always the same round of the same things – horses races, beer-drinking, TV-watching, flirt with every pretty woman he happened to meet. Always the same routine, the same masquerade, which he followed without any self-will, without protesting, without sentiment, like a broken puppet.

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**Aah, that one was longer than the first… I do think it's a good idea though. It was nice writing it. Thanks for reading my really, really randomly thoughts…**

**Oh, by the way, for those who checked on my profile and can't read French (I **_**know**_** it doesn't make sense…) I added an English paragraph. Even if it doesn't say the same thing at all than the first, at least you'll know me a bit more… **


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